


it's always colder on your own

by bitxh



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon and Daisy are Best Friends, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sharing a Bed, also this is my first time writing anything besides fluff thats supposed to be a little funny, and they were roomates, but not like that, cuz i said so <3, just like a description or two, now i fucking forgot what i was talking about, now i have to make a new twitter, sorry the tags are messy, the ships in this are more hinted at than explicitly there, uhhh, umm ao3 is bugging out but a couple other people are mentioned, while i was tagging one of my irls found my stan account
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitxh/pseuds/bitxh
Summary: "It had been weird going so long without physical contact and then sharing a bed"Daisy is back from The Buried and the only one that can even begin to understand what she went through is Jon. Things are still pretty bad but they might as well be alone together
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	it's always colder on your own

**Author's Note:**

> title is from This December by Ricky Montgomery. This fic was heavily influenced by other people in the fandom and the only part of it that was plan was like the last 500 words, I have zero clue where the rest of it came from. Also sorry the tags are choppy I just had a breakdown :) also i meant this as platonic but I'm gay and fall in love with all of my friends so that definetely messed with this a bit, but I don't ship them personally, but if you want to read it as a ship that's cool

Things have been different. Basira looks at her like she wants to get closer but just can’t stand too. The disappointment in her eyes hurts more than her as they desperately tried to take in air only to be filled with dirt. 

Daisy remembers how Martin was before, back when people didn’t look at her with pity but with mild distress. He had been irritating as all hell. It’s almost comedic how drastically their positions had changed; it was now Daisy who was visibly nervous, who looked like a spooked animal if someone was too loud, or got too close. The one time she did see Martin he barely looked at her. He was marching down the hallway with a file tucked under his arm, and a look of determination on his face. 

She had almost called out to him then, wanting to, be close to the self-assuredness he radiated? As if just being close to him would let her get it back. Take it back. And really she knew Martin didn’t take it; she still had it somewhere but right now she was too numb with the memory of cool dirt surrounding her completely. 

Melanie was almost a perfect mix between her and Martin actually. She only really talked to Basira; which was probably also the reason that she was civil towards Daisy, if the way she borderline growled at Jon the one time he dared to even slightly disagree with her was any indication. 

Jon was… Jon was Jon. He was weirdly the same, just more? It seemed like all he had suppressed either out of paranoia or self-preservation, now just barely peaked through the cold exterior it was clear he was trying desperately to keep up and tear down in equal measure. 

Honestly it’s a bit funny; Jon’s finally, finally ready to let people in, and no one wants to get close to him. 

\------------

It’s significantly less funny the second time Daisy sees Martin. She had been standing in Sim’s office, listening to him record a statement, it had become almost routine for them. She would listen to him talk, a nice reminder that there were people around again, sounds beside her own panicked breathing and dirt shifting against her; and really he did have quite a nice voice. 

It had only been for half a second; Martin had quickly passed by the door to Jon’s office, pointedly not looking inside. The only reason Jon had noticed was because he was doing the bit where he just rambled tiredly at the tape recorded, no longer completely entranced in the statement. 

Honestly it was probably the most emotion she had seen on his face the entire time she’d known him, which admittedly wasn’t that long, but still. He looked crestfallen. He recovered quickly and finished recording before shuffling papers, silently, almost daring Daisy to comment. There had been a point where she would have, for now she just remained in her corner silent, a watcher watching the watcher. 

Okay that was a bit funny.

\------------

She had slept in the archives the first few days. Once it had become clear that Basira was giving Daisy her cot instead of sharing like they once would have, she decided it was time to leave. 

Jon had accidentally ‘known’ about her plan to leave, and in the midst of apologizing profusely, offered her a place with him. 

God did that ache, Sims was the closest thing she had to a friend right now. If someone had told her this time last year that she and Sims were going to be sharing a flat she would have laughed so hard she cried and then killed them. Like literally, murdered them, no one would find the body. 

Now she simply accepted the offer, and then that was that. 

\------------

Living with Sims was not the worst if she was honest with herself. In the time she’d been gone he’d gotten a bit more assertive so there was no awkwardness on his part with her being there, and she made damn sure that she didn’t look uncomfortable. Very few people had ever seen her uncomfortable, and in all likeliness no one would again.

Sims never slept. Really it wasn’t a surprise; he had offered her the bed the first night and she had taken it. He had stayed in his kitchen doing “research” until it was time to go back to the archives. 

After a week they had settled into a dynamic; it wasn’t a good one by any means, but they were both comforted by it, and really they’ll take comfort wherever they can these days. 

\------------

It was a bitch to fall asleep without a blanket, apparently using a blanket no matter what was some human instinct that Daisy was unfortunately still human enough to feel. 

\------------ 

Jon wasn’t sure if he’d felt closer to someone since he and Georgie had been together. Daisy was surprisingly pleasant company; it was odd getting used to being together most of the time, but it was comforting, like an embrace might have once been, he wasn’t sure how it would feel anymore, to hug someone, wasn’t sure if anyone would hug him again. 

There was a small voice in his head that assured him he would know what it felt like again, a voice that sounded like Martin, a voice that made an ache settle firmly in his chest, and tears cling to the corners of his eyes. 

He missed Martin. He missed Tim. He missed Sasha. 

He didn’t even know which one of them hurt to think about most. He didn’t even know what Sasha had looked like, he couldn’t fucking remember. 

When he tried all he saw was the blank look in the eyes of the thing that had called itself Sasha James. He thinks he remembers well enough what she had acted like before, and he tried as hard as he could to make sure it’s accurate. Tries until he gives himself a headache with the strain of it. He stopped when he realized she had never gotten a funeral. She had never gotten a fucking funeral. 

A voice that sounded like Tim screamed at him in his head until he finally gave in and cried. He cried for the friends he lost, for the fact that he never appreciated them when they were still around. Still alive. He cried and dug his nails into his arm until it bled.  
The closest thing he would have ever gotten to a family he had destroyed. Not some fear god, not a creature that had pretended to be his friend, not fucking Elias. He had done that to himself, and now he could never take it back. 

\------------

At night he sat awake at his kitchen table and tried to figure out if he had died when they had stopped the ritual, would his assistants have been free to leave?  
Maybe if his grandmother had never taken him in he would have never even gotten the archivist job in the first place, he’d have been in foster care till eighteen and then on the streets. Maybe the people he cared about would all be alive and happy. Maybe Sasha would have been archivist, she would have done a better job he thinks. Then he cries when he realizes he’s not sure if the real Sasha would have been a good archivist because he couldn’t fucking remember her, and it was all his fault. It was all his fault.

\------------

He had gotten good at crying silently as a child. His grandmother did so much for him and the last thing she needed was to be kept up at night because he was upset. So every night he would close the door to his room, and lay on his bed staring at it. Wishing his parents would walk through the door as he let the sobs silently wrack his tiny frame. 

When he got older he stopped crying himself to sleep. Started reading, and refusing to cry, refusing to sleep, refusing to feel.

\------------

Daisy was so much different than Jon had ever thought. Really he hadn’t given her much thought before everything other than to assess if she was a threat. Now he got to know the real version of Daisy. 

Daisy listened to the Archers. She wouldn’t dry her hair after a shower, she’d just let it drip everywhere. The one time Jon commented on it he’d gotten a curt, “it’s shorter than yours Sims.”, and that had been that. Daisy put honey in her coffee, and glared at Jon over the rim of her mug when he scrunched his nose up at her in distaste. Daisy was not afraid to go through his closet and borrow clothes without asking. Daisy was his best friend. 

That realization probably would have hit harder had he been a bit more awake when he’d had it, but as it stands now he’s sitting at his table trying hard to remember a time when he’d been happy; and he realized that he was happy now. It was a dull ache that thrummed silently under his skin and was hardly noticeable unless he focused on it. But it was there, because Daisy was there. 

He was ready to sleep now.

\------------

The next morning Daisy left the bedroom after maybe two hours of sleep, a new record, which was horribly pitiful, but at least she was sleeping again. Sims was on the couch wearing one of his stupid cardigans that looked like they should be on someones grandmother and not on a man on the cusp of thirty-three. He was wrapped up under the ugly green thing like a kid using their parents coat as a blanket. 

The urge to slash his throat was there; little by little The Hunt had been making its way back to her, and she still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it, but was sure she’d control it better this time, it wouldn’t take her over. 

The urge to make him a cup of coffee was also there. Figuring that one would be more beneficial for both of them she made her way to the kitchen.

It really didn’t take long to make her shitty instant coffee, but she stretched the process out a bit, and told herself it wasn’t so Sims could get some more sleep. But it was getting late, and he’d be upset if they were late. She was half tempted most days to just not go back, Bouchard was in prison after all; but when she tried to convince him to just drop it all and leave he’d look at her with concern and fear in his eyes.  
The fear hurt, it was fear they shared and she hated to be reminded of it; it was also fear she’d been on the other end of so many times, the end that relished in it. She hated how hungry it made her feel. She stopped suggesting it all together. 

Slamming the cup onto the coffee table didn’t wake Sims up. So she grabbed a pillow, moved a safe distance away, and chucked it at his face. 

Jon woke with a start, something had hit him square in the face, and on a more concerning note he was sleeping. The panic dimmed significantly when he looked up to see Daisy looking at him. Perched against his TV stand, wearing one of his button ups, and smirking at him over her mug. The sunlight hit her hair in a way that made it shine, and Jon was sure that he’d never wanted to hug someone so bad, to just be close to someone. 

He realized then he loved her, and in another life maybe they’d have been together, they’d probably have been happy. But in this life they were together in an entirely different way, and really they were almost happy, and Jon realized he hadn’t missed his only chance at a family.

\------------

Sims looked like he was either trying to ‘know’ something, or was trying to shit his pants; either way it was weird and Daisy was keen to put a stop to it. “Drink your coffee Jon.”, she said, gesturing to the cup that sat on his shitty excuse for a coffee table, surrounded by a small pool of coffee that had formerly been inside the cup. 

\------------

About a month into living together they had started sharing Jon’s bed. He’d started calling it their bed, in a way that made it clear he did it without thinking, and Daisy didn’t have the heart to correct him, found that she didn’t really want to. 

So at night they would sleep in their bed. The blankets had been taken off the second night Daisy stayed there, and had yet to be put back on. 

\------------

Every night Daisy remembered the feeling of cool metal in her hand, of the pocket knife she’d used so many times, on so many people. Before Basira she had slept with it every night. Now she wasn’t sure where it was. Now she wasn’t sure if Basira would ever look at her like she used too. 

\------------

The Hunt was slowly coming back to her now, and she could almost always feel a warm rush of adrenaline in her veins. The missing place in her life that used to be filled by the animal instinct to hunt.

\------------

She would lay next to Sims and will her mind to go blank, and yet her blood would pound and her heart would race. She could feel Sims’ slight frame under her arm. 

It had been weird going so long without physical contact and then sharing a bed, but when she had put an arm over his chest and scrunched her eyes closed as hard as she could, till her blood vessels would pop and she’d see bright flashes of color, it had felt natural. 

\------------

Neither of them slept much if they were being honest. Jon would lay there and stare at the ceiling and think of anything his restless mind demanded that night.

Jon’s anchor when his thoughts got to be too much was Daisy’s arm that rested on his chest. It was the only point of contact between the two of them, and really it was as much as either of them could handle after everything they’d been through. 

\------------

Daisy’s anchor was the quiet noise of Jon’s mostly steady breathing, she could feel the slight wheeze as he inhaled; a result of his past smoking habits. As she scrunched her eyes and felt the blood flow through her veins. On nights she couldn’t feel anything but her blood and the lights behind her eyes were absent, the dread she felt build up in her chest would be interrupted by a hitch in Jon’s breathing as it changed and slowed as he finally fell asleep. And then, she would too. 

Lately the darkness hadn’t bothered her as much.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first angsty fic so I hope it was good! I was also experimenting more with the spacing so it might not have flowed great. I had the idea last night and couldn't get it out of my head till I wrote it. Also I'm only on MAG 135 so sorry if it's inaccurate at all!


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